Page 15 of The Prince Without Sorrow

Chapter Fourteen

Shakti

T WO DAYS LATER, S HAKTI MADE THE BOTHERSOME TREK to the royal palace.

Shakti had rolled her eyes at the sight of the opulent white building visible from the base of the mountain when they reached it. It was too grandiose to exist.

She listened to Ruchira’s stories about the palace: its absolute lack of nature, its thirteen jade and lapis pools, its stable of purebred winged serpents and two hundred sleek black leopards bred for battle. Its uninterrupted views of the wild forests to the north where the elder prince and princess went hunting. The hundred or so ornately decorated rooms, the famous Obsidian Throne and, of course, its five main inhabitants.

Well, four.

‘I was able to pull some strings,’ Ruchira was saying. ‘The head matron will decide where you’re rostered. I assume you’ll be assigned to the kitchens, or maybe the stables. It’s highly unlikely you’ll be assigned to the royal children or empress – their staff hardly ever changes.’

Ask Ashoka .

Shakti blinked furiously, banishing the sound of the man’s voice from her head. She wondered if she had been thrown a trick or a riddle. From Adil’s description of his son, Ashoka wouldn’t know about The Collective. So why then had that mysterious man asked her to do the opposite?

She needed to find a way to speak to the youngest prince.

The stark white palace looked imposing from a distance and magnified tenfold once Shakti arrived in front of its gates. They were impressive, hewn from iron and spiralling towards the sky. Guards were stationed every two feet where the gates encompassed, looking stoic and dangerous with their khandas. Master Hasith had made a few of those double-edged straight swords in his forge.

Kolakola seemed so small then, an anthill next to a den of lions.

This palace, this space... all for five people , Shakti thought to herself. Yet there are people who live in squalor, their homes lost due to Emperor Adil’s conquests. Anger wove itself anew in her veins at the thought.

‘Come,’ Ruchira said and tugged Shakti’s hand. ‘We must go through the staff entrance.’

Shakti followed Ruchira through the separate entrance, where she was immediately greeted by an expansive central hall that adjoined multiple rooms. A large painting of two black leopards graced one of the stark white walls as the staff bustled in and out of corridors like ants.

Ruchira led Shakti into the main kitchen, where she met the head matron: Avasthi. She was a short, hawklike woman with delicate hands and sharp features.

‘Ah, the new girl, I assume,’ Avasthi remarked when she saw Shakti lagging behind Ruchira. ‘Welcome to the royal palace.’

‘Thank you for allowing me to work here,’ Shakti replied.

‘It wasn’t my order,’ the woman replied before directing her towards a storage cupboard. ‘Here. You will find a suitable uniform inside. You’re lucky to get this position, child. Two of my staff have elected to take a period of rest – they are close to birth.’

Immediately after donning her uniform – a long-sleeved black tunic and trousers that covered her ankles – Shakti was sent to weed the area outside the training courtyard. It wasn’t as if there was much to remove since plants did not seem to grow here. The sheer lack of greenery was unnerving; if trapped here forever, a mayakari would easily descend into madness. She wondered how the other elusive mayakari withstood it.

The palace was a maze, but she was able to orient herself quickly. Remembering directions was easy for her; it always had been. Behind the main building was where the stables, the training ground, and gardens were situated. During her trek, she found herself in a large, fenced area with low roofs. Other than the training courtyard, this was the only other part of the palace with a hint of greenery.

As she approached the area inspecting for pesky weeds to pull out, Shakti heard a chorus of loud snores coming from the stables and she came closer. The sudden flash of a long black tail swishing over a wooden gate made her gasp.

Holding onto the basket she had been provided with, which contained a multitude of shears, Shakti made her way into the shaded stables. She fought hard to contain the excited squeal that threatened to erupt from her mouth when she entered. All she could hear were the contented purrs and snores of a dozen or so giant leopards, ranged in various shades of black.

They were quite curious – docile, even – as she approached the one closest to her. Unlike the rest, it was awake. Wide eyes held irises that were a shocking green as it appraised her slowly before padding over and hanging its head over the gate.

‘Hello,’ Shakti said softly, reaching up to rub the underside of its silky soft jaw.

The giant leopard’s eyes closed contentedly as she petted it. What a beautiful animal . Shame, though, that these creatures were bred for battle. They were innocents that did not deserve to partake in the conflicts that humans created for themselves.

She was so enamoured by the creature that she almost didn’t hear the heavy thud of paws to her right. Turning, she saw two giant leopards standing side by side, watching her. Sitting atop them were two young men, their heads obscured by deep brown cloaks. They too, assessed her curiously.

The one saddled on the smaller leopard pointed to her basket. ‘I wouldn’t advise trying to shear them with gardening tools,’ he pointed out.

Shakti flushed and stepped away from the leopard. ‘I was only petting them,’ she said.

‘My apologies,’ the young man replied. ‘I assumed you were in want of a quick death.’ With the grace of a dancer, he swung himself off the leopard and rubbed its neck fondly.

‘If I wanted a quick death, I would have sliced my own head off,’ Shakti said before wincing. What an unpleasant way to start a conversation, and with palace staff, no less.

Oddly enough, the young man chuckled as if he were amused. She couldn’t observe him properly as the hood of the cloak draped over his hair and forehead, but she noticed the doe eyes, pouting lips and sharp jaw beneath. ‘How direct,’ he replied.

‘Better than bleeding out on the floor after a leopard tears your abdomen into strips,’ she said.

‘You do raise a point,’ he mused.

They were stableboys, perhaps. Or not , she amended as the taller one hopped off his leopard and removed his cloak. He was ridiculously handsome, with brown skin and shoulder-length black hair half-tied behind his head. Strapped to his back were a pair of vicious dual broadswords, and she was quite sure stableboys didn’t saunter around with weapons of this size by their side. He was dressed in plain clothes, but his rigid posture and muscular frame were easily discernible. He looked trained.

Still, she couldn’t help herself. ‘Are you both stableboys?’ she asked.

The young man with the dual swords frowned at her question. He opened his mouth as if he were about to reprimand her but was stopped by the boy with the bright doe-like eyes who placed a hand around his wrist. With a mischievous smile, he turned to Shakti.

‘Not quite. My friend here is a soldier,’ he told her. ‘He was granted a day of rest, you see, so we paid a visit to the city markets. He tried bartering but failed. Quite miserably, too.’

‘I hope you didn’t buy anything valuable,’ she told him. ‘Jewels are sold for more than what they’re worth in the city, I hear.’

The doe-eyed boy turned to his friend. ‘See, I told you that lapis was too expensive,’ he complained.

The soldier rolled his eyes. ‘How was I supposed to know that?’ he countered. ‘Do you want to keep the present or not? Otherwise, I’ll throw it away.’

‘No, I’ll guard it with my life.’ The young man pushed back his cloak, revealing close-cropped black hair and a near-flawless face that radiated a boyish charm. The only imperfection on him was a notable burn on the left ear that left it a dark, puckered pink. Then, he turned his attention to her.

‘Are you new?’ he asked. ‘I don’t recall seeing your face anywhere.’

‘I started working at the palace today,’ she told him, ‘but as you can see, I got distracted.’

‘Ah.’ Something close to understanding dawned on the taller boy’s features, and he grinned. Whatever tension she had seen in him vanished. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Shakti,’ she replied, finding his slow smile oddly endearing.

‘Shakti,’ he repeated. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Rahil. I guard Prince Ashoka.’

Shakti stilled, wondering if she had heard him incorrectly. ‘Prince Ashoka?’ she repeated. ‘That’s quite an honour.’

Before she could ask the other young man his name and status, he nudged Rahil with a smile. ‘The greatest of honours, wouldn’t you agree, Rahil?’

The scoff that Rahil let out held no malice. Rather, it was fond. Shakti studied him for a moment. ‘You must be well trained, then,’ she said. ‘I’d be quite poor in comparison.’

The comment slipped out without much thought. It had been an offhand remark, but Rahil pounced onto it immediately.

‘You can fight?’ He looked impressed. ‘Who taught you? Where did you grow up?’

‘Mathura,’ she said. It was the empire’s largest state five days’ journey from the capital, famous for its weapons-makers and weapons-masters – Hasith included. ‘A... friend taught me how to fight.’

‘Which weapons are you trained in?’ Rahil asked. He seemed genuinely interested in her background, which only served to confuse her. Meanwhile, his friend shook his head, muttering, ‘Now you’ve got him started,’ loud enough for both to hear.

‘The bow and arrow,’ she confessed. No sense in fabricating a lie. ‘Although I can handle a sword quite well.’

A glint appeared in Rahil’s brown eyes. ‘Show me,’ he said.

Taken aback, Shakti could only stare at him, flabbergasted. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Show me,’ he repeated before unsheathing one of the broadswords on his back. ‘Here, use my sword. It won’t be well-adapted to you, but I want to see what you’re capable of.’

‘What on earth for?’

‘It’s not often that we have palace staff who know how to wield weaponry,’ Rahil replied. ‘Will you spar with me or not?’

‘I suggest you don’t,’ his friend told her.

For Shakti, his words were a challenge to be accepted. A grin made its way across her face as she took Rahil’s broadsword, a magnificent weapon with a name engraved on its blade: Indran .

‘My father’s,’ Rahil said as he watched her read the inscription. ‘One of the few things of his I’d rather keep.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ Shakti commented as she traced an arc through the air. ‘This must have been specially made.’

‘It was,’ he said and took out the second broadsword. ‘It was made in Mathura, in fact.’

‘Are there any rules to this?’ she asked him, avoiding any further conversation on Mathura. She only knew the barebones information about the state, and any further interrogation would reveal her lies immediately.

‘No killing and no serious bodily harm seem fair,’ Rahil said calmly and gestured for them to head outside. Shakti nodded her assent and followed. That was easy enough. Besides, she didn’t want to be known for harming the prince’s guard on her first day at the palace.

His friend trailed behind them. ‘Good luck,’ he told her. ‘Stay alert.’ Then, he retreated beneath the shade of the stable. She watched Rahil track him before turning his attention to her.

Shakti stepped back, as did Rahil, circling each other like vultures around a carcass. She was studying him, and he in turn was studying her. Arrogance told her that years of Master Hasith’s training would serve her well, perhaps even better.

It took only a split second before Rahil made the first move.

Shakti’s pride took an immediate battering when she found Rahil to be a menace. With strength, speed, and agility at godlike levels, he whirled, sliced, and jabbed, hellbent on destruction like an enraged Great Spirit. She couldn’t imagine what havoc he could cause with two swords.

Her best option was defence, but she could only use it for so long. Rahil easily broke through her defensive holds, but she sensed that he was holding back. She could feel the force with which he slammed the blade of his sword against hers, brutal and unyielding, but it always retracted in the last few moments.

‘You should attack,’ he called out, echoing her own sentiments.

What impressed her most was his demeanour. There was neither a pinched brow nor a clenched jaw in sight. In fact, he was expressionless, and it terrified her beyond belief. Here was the look of a soldier who thought nothing of a kill, who thought of battle as a mere playfight.

It was no wonder that he served a prince, but he would have been fit enough to serve the emperor himself.

Shakti took his advice to heart and shifted her position to an attack. Gripping the sword tightly, she charged, trying to skitter out of the way before Rahil could plunge his sword into her ribcage. She wasn’t fast enough.

The tip of his sword sliced a thin line through the material of her clothing and into the outer layer of her skin. Grimacing at the sharp flash of pain, Shakti sidestepped out of the way.

‘You’re good,’ she said, gritting her teeth.

‘Of course I am,’ he replied. He blocked her second attack like he was slicing through water.

From her periphery, Shakti noticed that a crowd of onlookers had appeared, but she barely paid them any attention. The broadsword started to feel heavy in her hands. Likely sensing her weariness, Rahil took his final blow and aimed a swift kick at her chest that was forceful enough to send her tumbling down.

Time slowed. It was as she fell, half-incensed and half-impressed, that Shakti saw an opening. Just before she felt her back hit the grass, she dropped the sword to her non-dominant hand, catching it neatly by its hilt. Like lightning, she managed to slice through Rahil’s free arm cleanly enough for him to recoil. She registered his surprise before he recovered. Then, she was on her back with his sword pointed at her throat.

Shakti lifted a hand up. ‘I concede,’ she said, panting like a dog on a hot afternoon. Rahil grinned. Retracting his sword, he held up a hand for her to grasp. Her cut traced red rivulets down his arm.

‘Colour me impressed,’ Rahil said quietly. ‘And it seems like I’m not the only one.’

A slow clap descended upon them as she pulled herself back up and glanced around them. The onlookers turned out to be soldiers, dressed in the typical red and black uniform she should’ve seen on Rahil, who watched with interest.

Two in the crowd stood out in stark contrast to the rest. One was a young woman who appeared to be around Shakti’s age, with sharply lined kohl around the eyes and severely burnished cheekbones. The shrewd eyes and haughty countenance that seemed strangely familiar were offset by the soft draping of her purple sari and gold jewellery. Next to her was another young man older than her; a tall, hulking giant who looked like he could snap her in pieces. Dressed in such ostentatious garb, these two could only be—

‘Prince Arush. Princess Aarya,’ Rahil greeted them with a bow and Shakti followed suit, standing beside him wearily.

No wonder they looked so familiar. Both had inherited at least one feature from Emperor Adil, from his thick brows to the tilt of his smile. It made her want to curse them where they stood.

Rahil’s friend had made his way towards the group. The princess noticed him approach and raised an eyebrow. ‘Another unannounced trip into the city, little brother?’ she asked. ‘Mother was worried you’d get lost.’

Mother?

Shakti’s heart stopped beating. Eyes widening, she turned her attention to the young man who noticed her burning gaze on him.

‘You never asked me who I was,’ he said with a sympathetic grin.

Ashoka .

She wouldn’t have guessed that he was Adil’s son, for the youngest prince appeared the least like his father. But spirits, he was here, right in front of her: the potential answer to her problem.

If only she could ask what she wanted to. Alas, informing him – and subsequently his siblings – of her current predicament would leave her dead.

‘My apologies, Prince Ashoka,’ she said with a bow. ‘I meant no offence.’

‘None taken,’ the prince replied. ‘I should apologize for tricking you.’

Rahil laughed. ‘I would hardly call that a trick, Ashoka,’ he replied. He addressed the prince without his title, and in front of his family no less, but the royal siblings didn’t even flinch. Whatever rapport they had was deeper than that of a prince and his guard. ‘It was a deliberate omission at best.’

‘Says the one who could not barter for his life.’

Meanwhile, Prince Arush cocked his head at her like a curious puppy but addressed Rahil. ‘Training a new guard?’ he asked.

‘No, Prince Arush,’ Rahil said with a bow, ‘I was simply inviting Shakti to spar with me out of curiosity. She is very well trained in weaponry, it seems.’

‘ Emperor ,’ Arush corrected Rahil immediately.

‘Until the official coronation, you’re still the prince,’ Princess Aarya reprimanded, jabbing her brother’s side. As Arush winced, she turned to Shakti with the same sense of self-importance she had seen in Emperor Adil.

‘You adapted to Rahil’s broadsword quite quickly,’ she remarked. A sly grin wormed its way into her lips. ‘Where did you come from?’

‘Mathura,’ Shakti replied.

A moment of awkward silence followed her answer. Shakti spotted Prince Ashoka now fighting to contain a smirk, while the soldiers around him wore expressions of faint horror. Princess Aarya raised an eyebrow.

‘Well.’ She let out a forced laugh. ‘That may be the first time someone has addressed me without a title.’

Too late, Shakti realized her mistake. ‘My apologies, Princess Aarya,’ she corrected herself. ‘My name is Shakti. I hail from Mathura.’

‘I gathered,’ Princess Aarya said dryly as her neatly lined eyebrows finally descended. ‘You fought well, Shakti.’

‘Oh,’ Shakti muttered, ‘it’s nothing, really.’

‘Nothing? You managed to scratch Rahil,’ the princess replied. She sounded impressed. ‘Few people can get through him, you know. It’s why my little brother is rarely injured.’

‘I fight too, you know,’ Ashoka muttered. This earned a chuckle from both Arush and Aarya.

‘Of course, little brother,’ Arush’s toothy grin was nothing short of condescending.

Shakti watched them in fascination. The sudden urge to fracture their silly little lives grew from the pit of her stomach, unwarranted. The children were Adil’s pride, were they not? As he had so brazenly razed her town and killed her aunt, why not heap a thousand curses upon them in kind?

No , she admonished herself. You are veering too far into destructive thoughts. Remember why you’re here.

‘You’re not a soldier?’ the princess asked.

‘Palace staff, princess,’ she replied, shaking her head. ‘Ruchira was kind enough to find me work here.’

In her periphery, Shakti saw Prince Ashoka still. Worry spiked her heart rate; had she said something wrong?

That, or she was irrationally anxious.

‘General staff?’ the princess queried. ‘Well, let me relieve you of that job—’

‘Shakti was hired as a new addition to my staff,’ Prince Ashoka interrupted coolly, coming to stand in front of Rahil, ‘so there will be no relieving of positions, sister.’

The prince sounded assured. Confident. Meanwhile, Shakti was attempting to conceal her shock.

His staff? What on earth was happening?

‘She can fight,’ Princess Aarya replied in disbelief, ‘and you’re keeping her on as general staff ?’

‘Correct,’ said Prince Ashoka. ‘This little revelation was simply a happy surprise.’

‘Don’t contest him,’ Rahil whispered to her as the Maurya siblings argued. Shakti made to argue but was stopped by his beseeching gaze. ‘Just agree.’

Well .

Getting on the prince’s good side wouldn’t hurt. Shakti wracked her brains, wondering what she’d said to trigger him into an argument with his sister. She came up short.

Princess Aarya turned to her. ‘Would you prefer to clean linens for Ashoka, or fight, Shakti?’ she asked, ignoring Prince Ashoka’s protests.

Shakti almost blurted out fight . However, Rahil’s order made her rethink. Logically, her best bet would be to go along with Prince Ashoka. Agreeing with whatever Princess Aarya had in mind was risky.

Out of the two of them, only one was known as a mayakari sympathizer.

‘I was brought in to aid Prince Ashoka,’ she replied, watching the tension dissipate from the young prince’s shoulders. ‘Thank you for your kind offer, but I must decline, princess. I’m happy to clean his linens for several decades, if need be.’